pile, and frightened himself still further by imagining that it must
extend for miles in every direction, and that he might be hopelessly
lost within its dark mazes. When he became frightened, he hurried his
footsteps, as nervous people always do, and the result was that he
blacked one of his eyes very badly by running against a projecting
piece of timber. He was weary as well as frightened, but he dared not
give up his effort to get out. Hour after hour--and the hours seemed
weeks to him,--he wandered back and forth, afraid to call for
assistance, and afraid above everything else that morning would come
and that he would be forced to remain there in the drift pile while
the boys marched away, or to call aloud for assistance and be caught
in his own meanness without the power to deny it. Finally morning
broke, and he could hear the boys as they began preparing for
breakfast. It was his morning, according to agreement, to cut wood
for the fire and bring water, and so a search was made for him at
once. He heard several of the boys calling at the top of their lungs.

"Jake Elliott! Jake! Ja-a-a-ke!!" He knew then that his time had come.

What had Sam been doing all this time? Sleeping, I believe, for the
most part, but he had not gone to sleep without making up his mind
precisely what course to pursue. When he threw the log down, he meant
merely to shut Jake Elliott and his own boots up for safe keeping, and
it was his purpose, when morning should come, to "have it out" with
the boot thief, in one way or another, as circumstances, and Jake's
temper after his night's adventure, might determine.

He walked back, therefore, to his place of rest, after he had blocked
up the entrance of the drift-pile, and threw himself down again under
the bushes. Ten or fifteen minutes later he heard a slight noise at